Quitter
by purplecleric
Summary: Bobby makes a Resolution...
1. Pure Pleasure

"_I just don't want anyone messing around with my pure smoking pleasure." Max Cannon _

Bobby watched as the smoke coiled and twisted from the end of the cigarette, fascinated by the subtle and shifting pictures it wove. A snake, a twist of DNA, a strand of hair appeared before becoming lost in the eddies and swirls of previous illusions.

The moment was broken by a sudden pang; the urge, the_ need _heavy in his empty mouth and gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Eagerly, he brought the cigarette to his lips, drawing the smoke down deep into his lungs, savouring the rush, the flash of giddiness, the quietening edginess. He exhaled with less haste, playing with the smoke as it left his mouth, forming rings to join curls and clouds.

Ah! There was nothing like the first cigarette of the day.

Except maybe the one after a fine meal. Or the one with a beer... or a cup of good coffee. Or the one snatched as a moment of peace in a hectic day or the one savoured in luxury at the end of the day. Or the post-coital hedonistic shared delight... Christ! Those had been the days...

His long finger tapped off the column of ash and he brought the cigarette again to his mouth.

This time his lungs rebelled, tightening, doubling him over in a paroxysm of coughing. The smoke strayed into his eyes, stinging them, blurring his vision as he choked and gasped. Pain flared in his head at each spasm and he wheezed in the attempt to draw air into his constricted chest. Gradually the fit passed, his breathing eased and the headache receded to a tight band across his temples.

He closed his still teary eyes and concentrated on steadying his shallow breaths, only opening them when a new pain flared in his fingers as the cigarette burnt down to the stub. Hastily he shifted his grip and put it out, pausing as his eyes cleared and he began to see things in a different light.

Butts and ash were piled in a stinking mound in the ashtray he'd neglected to empty the night before. Above it his scorched fingers hovered, stained with nicotine. Around him hung a noxious fog that had accumulated in a room too infrequently aired in the winter chill. He glanced down to see stray flakes of ash speckling his favourite black T-shirt and, in attempting to brush them off, discovered pinhole burns in the fabric. His tongue felt raw, his throat sore and there was an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Jeez, how had he not noticed?

It must have crept up on him. Bobby thought back to his Army days, where cigarettes were a currency of camaraderie and he'd been a regular smoker. He'd stopped when he'd joined the NYPD, only occasionally lapsing when the needs of undercover work demanded it or to build rapport with a witness or suspect. He realised those lapses had got more frequent, that he had begun to never refuse a proffered smoke, and eventually, embarrassed by always being the one on the cadge, had relented and bought a pack...

A slippery slope, indeed.

And it had led him here, to a three day break over the holidays with no family to share the festivities, nothing to do but read ... and smoke. He grimaced, disgusted with himself, and made a vow.

He would quit smoking.


	2. The Easiest Thing

"_Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I've done it thousands of times." __Mark Twain _

Bobby bounced into the squad room on the second day of the New Year, full of optimism. Alex eyed him with surprise.

"Someone's in a good mood. Glad to be back?"

He was in a good mood. Yesterday had passed in a flurry of activity; ridding his place of all smoking paraphernalia so they would not be around to remind him, cleaning and airing the rooms, doing laundry and bagging up items for the dry cleaner so the smell didn't linger. Activity that had been interspersed with a frenzy of research; boning up on statistics, comparing methods, reading articles and now he had a brain armed with the necessary weapons for the fight against nicotine addiction. He'd been too busy with preparations and note-taking to even think about a cigarette.

And he was glad to be back. Not the most social of men, he was content to spend time alone, had many things to occupy his time but none compared with the buzz he got out of all the challenges presented by police work. And now he had this new challenge, which was proving rather easier than he expected.

A new year; a fresh start and a fresh case.

The truck driver who had found the body was in shock and his hands shook as he tried to get a cigarette from the pack. Bobby came to his aid and smugly refused the one offered in thanks. Alex's eyebrow quirked.

He was still smug as he passed the huddle of smokers outside the entrance of 1PP, thinking of how - although it had only been a day - his heart rate and blood pressure would already be dropping. A surge of energy and enthusiasm had him getting off the elevator a couple of floors before the one he needed and even his pounding heart and gasping breaths did not deter him, so confident was he in the knowledge that his risk of a heart attack had already began to fall and in only a few of weeks he would no longer be feeling as winded and sick when he climbed a couple of flights of stairs. Alex took in his red face with its sheen of sweat and waited for him to catch his breath before commenting.

"It's no good giving up smoking if you kill yourself before you have the chance to reap the benefits."

"Oh, you noticed..."

"The lecture you gave Petronelli kinda tipped your hand."

He had indeed given his colleague the benefit of his extensive research over the coffee pot, expounding with the evangelical zeal of one born-again. Petronelli hadn't been able to get away fast enough, grumbling to Alex as he passed.

"Jeez, I only asked him if he was coming outside for a smoke..."

But Bobby's new found fervour was not diminished by cynicism or sarcasm. He threw himself into the witness interviews and, when lunchtime arrived, he discovered he was incredibly hungry. He knew, in part, it was one of the symptoms of nicotine withdrawal but the smells in the diner were just so appetising and the flavours of the food, when it arrived, danced and sang on his tongue. He paused, midway through his second piece of pie, when he caught Alex's look of disapproval.

"What?"

"I don't think putting on more weight will really help your cause."

"Christ, why do you have to be so negative? I'm doing a good thing here..."

Alex took his tetchy reply in good stead; like all new converts, Bobby was too pleased with himself for anything to prick his bubble.

His air of superiority continued through the afternoon. It was present in the shake of his head when Logan nodded his own towards the exit in their silent code for 'join me for a cigarette?' And it was all too obvious in the morgue as they viewed the blackened lungs of their latest victim and Bobby and Rodgers traded statistics on lung cancer and emphysema. He was confident when they finally opened him up that his lungs would no longer look like that. Alex had to be quite pushy to bring the conversation back to the cause of death.

"Get out of the wrong side of the bed, didya, Eames? "

Alex bit back a snappy retort and merely rolled her eyes. At least he wasn't boorish enough to allude to hormonal influences. By the end of the day she couldn't wait to get out of the office; she was on the verge of shoving his holier-than-thou attitude up his sanctimonious ass. Bobby watched her go with a puzzled look. He could understand her getting irritated with him if he had been crabby – after all, wasn't that what people were like as they wrestled with nicotine cravings? But he'd been in a good mood all day, was positive and optimistic, had resisted temptation easily. No cravings for him.

Giving up smoking was easy.


	3. Going to Hell

"_I don't want to quit smoking. I am convinced that if I quit smoking, the world would go to hell." __Marjane Satrapi _

It was a very different picture by the end of the week.

Bobby had known it was going to be a bad day from the moment his fumbling hand had reached out to silence the alarm and knocked over the water glass instead. Propelled out of bed by the sudden dousing, his foot tangled in sheets and he ended up in an untidy heap on the floor, banging his elbow sharply and prompting a string of curses.

The day didn't get any better.

Nothing seemed to go right. Everyone he encountered, from the subway attendant and newspaper vendor to colleagues and the captain, were incompetent idiots and he left a trail of wounded egos as he cut a swath through the morning with his sharp tongue.

It didn't occur to him that his expectations were unreasonable, he was too pissed.

Alex was glad the arrest had gone down smoothly; the way Bobby dumped his binder on the desk and kicked a stray chair out of the way had said it all and she fully expected to have to spend the afternoon at IAB defending her partner against claims of excessive force.

Now he was stalking around the interrogation room, exuding all the menace of a caged lion and equally unpredictable. The suspect, his lawyer and Alex watched him warily. The room always felt small when Bobby ramped up the pressure but today it was positively claustrophobic. The pacing continued, the torrent of accusations pouring from tight lips until even that was not enough to defuse the explosion he could feel building within. With a roar he gave vent to it; slamming meaty fists on the table, causing three people to start in unison.

But Bobby could see that he'd jumped the gun. The suspect's face hardened into resolve and the lawyer terminated the interview. Now the room felt claustrophobic to him as well, and he stormed out in search of a wider space to pace. Alex was hot on his heels.

"What the hell's going on, Bobby? It's not like you to blow an interrogation."

Bobby rounded on her; the irritation he had felt at the suspect's attitude had quickly turned to anger and that anger was now stoked by his fury at himself for having misjudged the signals and given into to his feelings. Alex took in his clenched jaw, his flushed cheeks and the way he had drawn himself up to his full height. She decided it would not be wise to push the matter further.

Raising her hands in a placating manner, she spoke softly as if trying to talk down a volatile axe-wielding madman. Bobby in this mood could be just as dangerous.

"There's nothing we can do now, he's shut down."

Bobby bristled at the implied criticism and looked ready to let rip. Alex hastily continued.

"We'll approach it from a different angle. Let's go over the evidence again."

An afternoon closeted with boxes of files did nothing to improve Bobby's mood and was a real test of Alex's patience. He snarled and snapped, she sighed and the vending machine simply did not contain enough sugar to soothe either of their frazzled tempers.

If they could get at the candy.

Bobby had thumped the machine once too often when it rejected his coins and now it was stubbornly refusing to give up its wares. He launched into a tirade against poor design, shoddy engineering, sub-standard materials, unskilled assembly workers and soon broadened his rant to include market forces, issues with capitalism, problems with politics and the general decline in work ethics and the state of the world.

Alex tuned him out; refusing to be drawn into the debate or to turn his diatribe into the argument he was trying to provoke. This pissed him off further and Bobby was on the verge of making the issue personal when he broke off.

Petronelli had just returned to the squad room bringing with him a heavenly smell of freshly- smoked cigarettes. Bobby's nostrils flared and he inhaled deeply. This is what he wanted, what he needed. This would put the world back to rights. He knew one puff would spread its balm though his body, would smooth out the edges, would restore calm. The craving cramped in his belly, making his hands restless and flooding his mouth and he was overwhelmed with resentment.

Just one puff...

The abrupt halt in angry words caused Alex to look up from the witness statement she was reading. Bobby was standing there with such a naked look of longing on his face that his tongue was practically hanging out. He looked so pathetic that her patience finally snapped.

"Oh for heaven's sake, have a damn cigarette!"

The outburst put Bobby's hackles up. She was trying to sabotage him! Stubborn contrariness replaced resentment and longing and he resisted the urge to retort something childish, like 'Shan't!'

His chosen reply was not much more mature.

"You can just go to hell! I'm going home."

Alex was not beyond a little childishness herself.

"Good!"

But Bobby did not go straight home; he was still full of craving and headed off to his favourite diner, hoping a large dose of red meat, grease and carbohydrates would satisfy him. But the service was slow and the burger and fries, when they arrived, were not hot enough and there was an annoying bunch of kids at the next table and man opposite was shouting loudly into his cell phone and the couple two tables away were bickering and the waitress had a grating nasal twang and...

Placing the exact change on the table, Bobby stomped out, muttering under his breath. Home provided no relief and three in the morning found him still at war with the world, and himself. He'd gone though all his drawers and pockets in vain hope that he'd missed a hidden stash in his enthusiastic clearout and was now eyeing the garbage speculatively.

How low could he sink? And just when had the world turned to crap?


	4. Living Longer

"_If you resolve to give up smoking ... you don't actually live longer; it just seems longer." __Clement Freud_

Bobby's anger was soon replaced by an enormous sense of loss.

His empty hands roved restlessly around his desk seeking something- anything – to occupy them. All his pencils were sharpened, papers stacked then restacked, he'd made several paper clip chains and was working on a rubber band ball. Thumb tacks had been sorted into pots of similar colours, as had the highlighters and marker pens. Alex approved of all this industry – for once, his side of the desk was neater and more organised than hers. She was less keen on the almost constant clicking of his pen and was getting a little worried that the back of his neck was going to get sore from the way he kept rubbing it.

The pen was a mixed blessing for Bobby.

Holding it in that oh so familiar way felt strangely comforting but it was also a reminder that it wasn't just his hands that felt empty. After all, cigarettes wouldn't be harmful if all you did was hold them between your fingers. Time and time again, he brought the pen up to his mouth only to be disappointed that all he inhaled was air, except on one memorable occasion when it had been a mouthful of ink. Alex's snorts of laughter at his blue-stained lips had gone a long way to repair the breach made by his tantrums. He'd switched to pencils, but discovered that he ended up chewing them and that a tongue full of wood splinters was painful. Alex had taken great delight in offering him salt and vinegar flavoured chips after that episode.

Candy was out.

He was aware that the only reason he was not piling on the pounds was because he was constantly fidgeting, always on the lookout for something else to distract him and unable to settle long in any one place. Besides that, there was the vending machine: every time he walked past, or glanced in that direction, the 'Out of Order' sign mocked him – "No cigarettes for you! And no candy! What else are you going to have to do without?" – and his belly felt emptier, his hands felt emptier and his mouth felt emptier still.

Lollipops had seemed like a good idea.

Pure sugar on a stick; something to hold in his hands, something to work his mouth around, to give him a little buzz, something that lasted... Alex found it highly entertaining, barely suppressing her giggles as he waved the glistening pink ball at her to emphasise a point. She held out for two days until at last the urge became too great and she just had to say it:

"Who luvs ya, baby?"

The lollipops never appeared again.

Bobby switched to gum instead, and between that and the pen found a modicum of ease, even if his jaw had begun to ache and he felt like a cow chewing the cud.

This quest for distraction highlighted just how integral to his life cigarettes had become. Previously he had dwelt on those 'special' cigarettes but now he missed them all – constantly. Every part of his life felt like it lacked something.

Each action now seemed incomplete; reaching for the phone was no longer coupled with reaching for a cigarette, checking his pockets for keys and coins only highlighted the fact that cigarettes were missing from the triad, exiting 1PP left him feeling like there was something he hadn't done and he arrived there feeling unprepared.

Meals were enjoyable, especially now his taste buds had returned, but they never felt finished without a cigarette. A walk was a pleasure, particularly as he no longer was short of breath when tackling a steep incline, but what was the point when there wasn't a cigarette to savour when enjoying the view? Museums and galleries had lost none of their interest but they had lost the moments of contemplation stood outside while having a smoke. Books still thrilled him but he felt oddly off balance without a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

The days wore on and Bobby moped through them, consumed by a sense of deprivation. 'Battling addiction' sounded noble and heroic but in reality he was 'giving up' smoking. The definitions played on his mind; foregoing, forsaking, renouncing, yielding, surrendering, ceding and each felt like an act of betrayal to a long-term loyal companion.

He was bereft.

Alex looked at his hangdog expression, at drooping shoulders and dragging feet.

"Cheer up! It may never happen..."

As far as Bobby was concerned, it already had.


	5. Being Social

"_The upside to smoking is that you get to be social." Beth Orton _

It wasn't just the loss of a constant companion that was causing Bobby grief.

He was irked by 'the one that had got away' – knowing his temper had caused them to lose the one shot they had of nailing the perp niggled at him. And this knowledge was compounded by the sneaky suspicion that he'd been so pre-occupied with finding a way to cope with his cravings that he'd not been concentrating hard enough in the number of times they had reviewed the files and had missed making a vital connection.

So, although the case had been consigned to the limbo of their 'pending' trays, and new investigations had begun and some old cases revived through fresh information, his mind kept returning to this one. Whenever he had a free moment, pen in hand and jaw working furiously on a piece of gum, he went over the reports again and again. In a way the case became symbolic to him; as long as it remained open he remained, at heart, a smoker.

The other source of grief had surprised him.

He had never been a clubbable man. The demands of caring for his mother had eaten into his free time during high school, and while he could be entertaining company and enjoyed a night out when he was in the mood, he had never felt the need to 'belong'. Small gatherings such as the poker game suited him but time spent with a friend like Lewis collaborating on a project or investigating a case with his partner were usually the extent of his sociability.

He'd only ever felt part of three larger groups – the military, the police force and the smokers.

Now he found he missed the instant rapport with a stranger as they shivered and smoked on a cold winter's day, the shared umbrellas and soggy cigarettes, the rueful looks when it was time to return to a stuffy office on a fresh spring day. It was a club that only had one membership requirement, crossed gender and demographic lines, held no judgement and where, with one inhalation, he was immediately accepted. It was a connection that he didn't have to foster, one that he didn't have to work at and he missed it badly.

"Gotta light, Goren?"

The cheery voice rang out as Bobby approached the entrance to 1PP and he felt oddly deficient when he admitted he hadn't, felt even more so when he added;

"I've quit."

It was hard to walk away from the gang, hard to listen to them begin to swap stories of their own failed attempts, hard to turn his back on them. And it was hard to watch Logan and Petronelli leave the squad room together knowing he was no longer part of the shared conspiracy of smokers, that he was excluded.

Bobby glanced up from his umpteenth review of that blasted case; jaw aching, fingers cramping as they clutched at his surrogate cigarette, feeling nothing but loss, feeling like a loser. Alex was looking perky and put together, swivelling from side to side on her chair as she munched contently on a bag of Skittles and swapped gossip with one of the support staff. Gossip that he would have known about if he still smoked. Bobby shoved his chair back, threw his useless pen on the desk, spat a wad of gum in the trash and stomped off with an air of grim determination.

"Don't you dare go near the vending machine!"

Alex was only half-joking but, as she watched Bobby march past the newly repaired source of treats, realisation dawned that he was in pursuit of a completely different fix.

"Oh, no..."

Abandoning candy, chair and chat she hurtled after him only to arrive at the elevator as the doors closed. Vacillating a moment, she opted for the stairs and headed down muttering to herself.

"Shouldn't have got mad, shouldn't have teased, shouldn't have laughed. Should have been kinder, should have told him I was proud of him, because I am proud, should've encouraged him more because I really want him to beat this, because I really want him, because I really care if he's healthy, because I really care about him..."

Shoving a courier out of the way, Alex burst out into the bright sunlight. Squinting, her eyes sought out the familiar figure.

"Bobby!"

With an aggressive look daring her to challenge him, Bobby slowly brought the flame to the cigarette in his mouth. Alex panicked – Bobby's whole attitude screamed 'I don't give a crap anymore!' and she knew any attempt she made to stop him would have the opposite effect. Her mind whirled, froze and suddenly she had a revelation.

"The case, I've got an idea, we need to see Carver, I'll fill you in on the way. Come on!"

The unlit cigarette fell from Bobby's lips as he hurried after her.

A short while later, they had wheedled a warrant out of Carver and were about to search the third floor home of the suspect's brother. It was a grotty building with no elevator and Alex jogged lightly up the stairs, pausing at the top as usual to wait for her puffing partner to catch up. But today was not usual. His long legs had taken the steps two at a time and his breathing was calm and quiet so when she turned to speak to him, she was startled to find he was already beside her. His surprised look matched hers and it was with a bit of a swagger that he led them to the apartment door.

The swagger was almost a strut as they left the court after the arraignment and Alex eyed Bobby appreciatively, remembering the way long strong legs had powered up the steps, remembering her thoughts on another set of stairs...

"What's it been now? A month? "

Bobby paused for a moment, calculating.

"Four weeks, three days and fifteen hours."

"Well, let's have a look at you."

Without waiting for his agreement, Alex stepped close and grabbed his jaw, turning his head from side to side.

"Mmm, skin clear, eyes bright..."

She squeezed his cheeks to open his mouth to reveal white teeth.

"Clean teeth-"

"I'm not a piece of livestock!" Bobby protested but he fell silent as Alex stepped even closer.

"Looking good..." She inhaled deeply. "Smelling good..." She stood on tiptoe and her lips brushed his. "Tasting good..."

Suddenly Bobby found that there was plenty for his restless hands to do, far more satisfying ways to occupy his mouth and a whole new way to be sociable.

For the first time in weeks, smoking was the last thing on his mind.

_A/N_

_Thank you for reading and reviewing. Your comments feed my habit._

_And thanks to WendyCR72 for being a great beta._

_Usual Disclaimer: blah blah blah..._


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